


The Coward

by Kirsten



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Family, Grief/Mourning, Love, Loyalty, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: They were three weeks into their slow, meandering journey north before Uhtred realised he had not dreamed of Gisela since before the siege at Winchester.
Relationships: Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Gisela/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 23
Kudos: 67
Collections: The Last Kingdom Fanfic Fest





	The Coward

**Author's Note:**

> For The Last Kingdom Fanfic Fest 2020 and the prompt, “Uhtred is visited by the actual Night Walker and they have a philosophical conversation around the campfire.”
> 
> Thank you to the crew for the encouragement, and for being an absolute joy – I’m so glad to know you. You know who you are!

They were three weeks into their slow, meandering journey north before Uhtred realised he had not dreamed of Gisela since before the siege at Winchester. What did it mean? Had she said her last goodbye? The notion stopped his breath for several long, slow seconds, and he put his hand to his chest; then he remembered how to breathe again.

He noticed Finan watching him. Uhtred rolled his eyes at his friend’s mother-henning. “It is nothing. A cough.”

“Oh, a cough,” said Finan, and his sarcasm was thick like the humid summer fog they’d pushed through over the past two days. “Is that supposed to reassure me? Jesus in heaven.”

Uhtred shook his head but didn’t answer. “You should check on Aethelstan and make sure he hasn’t fallen off that horse again.” 

He urged his own horse forward a few paces, Finan’s gaze heavy on his back.

-

They made camp in a clearing a few miles south of Eoferwic. Uhtred felt weighted down, a man cast overboard into the ocean without warning, and his body ached from their long ride and his lingering battle bruises. Healing was slower than it had been in years past. He was getting old. 

And he was tired. He had not slept easily as they traversed Mercia’s northern reaches, constantly on guard for assassins. He had stood watch after watch after watch as they crossed the borderlands and made their way into Danelaw, up and around Legeceaster, until Osferth convinced him to rest and let his men take their turns at watch as well. 

“What good will you be to the boy if you are too exhausted to swing your sword?” Osferth asked.

“That will never happen,” Uhtred said, and then he yawned and tripped over a tree root and made himself a liar. 

Osferth had grinned and raised his eyebrows, smug and triumphant, and Uhtred grumbled out a begrudging, “Fine,” and sat down beside the fire. He let Finan ply him with ale and meat and bread, and he did not resist when Finan pushed him down onto his back and Aethelstan settled into slumber beside him. 

The boy lay curled up on his side, his forehead pressed to Uhtred’s shoulder, his hands held close to his chest as if refusing to reach out for comfort. His breaths puffed rhythmically against the sleeve of Uhtred’s tunic, slow and trusting, and for a moment Uhtred had seen not Aethelstan but his own boy, sleeping and innocent in his arms. The memory was sweet and painful, for there had been too few of those nights, and Uhtred turned his head away and blinked hard. 

Finan touched his shoulder. Uhtred met his eyes, caught out in his weakness, but Finan had only smiled. 

“Rest,” Finan said. “I’ll be watching.”

And so Uhtred had closed his eyes and fallen asleep to the faint sound of Finan’s sword cloth sweeping up and down his blade and the familiar, quiet voices of his friends as they teased each other and laughed about their day. His sleep was deep, and dreamless.

Their camp south of Eoferwic they made beside the River Ouse, under the shelter of a giant old oak with gnarled and twisted branches covered in thick green leaves. They secured their horses to its lowest limbs, and Sihtric found an abandoned fishing net when he went to refill their skeins.

Osferth volunteered to fix it and try his luck. “We fished at the monastery,” he said. “I know what to do.”

“We’ll apprentice you to old Boatman Bada back in Coccham,” laughed Finan. “He’ll have you out on the river every day come the winter.”

“Don’t spend too much time on it,” Uhtred said to Osferth before high spirits could take over. “We will not be here long, we leave for Eoferwic at first light.”

Finan took Aethelstan and they followed Osferth down to the river, intent on watching Osferth fail to catch any fish. Uhtred watched Finan bend down to whisper secrets in Aethelstan’s ear, and the boy threw back his head and laughed so hard he caught one foot in the entrance to a rabbit burrow and almost pitched forward onto his face – but then Finan caught him, picked him up, and gave him a shake.

“Watch where you’re going, clumsy,” Finan chided, and Aethelstan laughed again as his feet and legs flopped through the air.

Uhtred watched and smiled, and when he turned back, he saw that Sihtric had been watching them, too.

“It makes me miss my boy,” said Sihtric.

“And your wife, no doubt,” said Uhtred with a grin.

“Yes, and my wife,” said Sihtric. His voice was quiet, and he sighed. “I am a warrior, and I know this is the life I have chosen. It is an honour to follow you, lord. But I am not hungry for battle as I once was,” he admitted, and he looked a little ashamed.

It was a surprise to hear Sihtric speak in such a way. But perhaps it should not have been, Uhtred thought. Sihtric had been his loyal oathman since Cumbraland, had stayed true to his oath even when Uhtred had been betrayed and sold into slavery. He had followed Uhtred without question for years and his dedication was beyond reproach. But the seasons changed ever quicker, and time changed a man’s ambitions. It would be easy to dismiss Sihtric’s uncertainty or answer it with a harsh acceptance, but Sihtric deserved more from Uhtred than disregard.

And so Uhtred grasped him by the shoulder. “Time changes us, Sihtric. For better, for worse. You do not need to follow me everywhere, risking death. You can return to Coccham if you wish, and you may be my man there instead.”

Sihtric smiled and ducked his head, embarrassed by the consideration. “Thank you, lord.” He looked up, and his smile had turned into that full-hearted grin Uhtred knew so well. “Perhaps not yet.”

Uhtred shook him gently, pleased. “Now go and keep an eye on Finan and Osferth. Make sure they do not drown the aetheling.”

Sihtric nodded and jogged away, and Uhtred busied himself building a fire. It was late summer and the leaves on the trees had lost their lushness and faded to a deeper green, richer and more content. The days were warm and the sun was golden, and the land was ripening into the harvest, but the nights grew ever shorter, and a sudden wind in the darkness could catch a man unaware and chill him to the bone. 

He listened hard for the crack of a twig, the huffing of an impatient horse, but there was nothing but the sound of his men nearby and the trees and river around them. These were Sigtryggr’s lands and their presence had been noted by his scouts; they would not have far to run, if it came to conflict, but Uhtred could not let down his guard. Aethelstan was everything; like his cousin Aelfwyn, he was the future of Alfred’s England. Uhtred was not sworn to Edward, but Alfred had been his king, and despite himself some sense of obligation lingered in his heart.

And above all that, Edward had entrusted Uhtred with his son. It was the simplest burden, and yet the heaviest, to guard another man’s child.

To Finan’s disappointment, Osferth managed to catch a large salmon, and they made a merry meal of it with the remaining bread and ale. Uhtred told them about the morning Hild had woken him in a whorehouse with two buckets of water after letting the whore steal his silver, and Finan told them about old Boatman Bada and his first sight of Uhtred in Coccham, a story which began with their triumphant entry to the estate and ended with Uhtred on his arse in the Thames while his horse bolted a mile downstream and his new lady wife looked on.

“I swear, I have never seen a woman look so disappointed by her new husband,” said Finan, laughing his way to the conclusion of his tale – which was, Uhtred was sorry to admit, entirely unembellished.

The story made Aethelstan and Osferth laugh like fools, Osferth because he had never heard the tale and enjoyed any story at his lord’s expense, and Aethelstan because a man on his arse in a river is always funny to a child.

“What is this?” said Uhtred. “You have all decided to tease Uhtred today? I will make you pay.”

“You will not,” said Aethelstan, still giggling at Finan’s side.

“And what makes you so certain?” asked Uhtred, and he scowled to make himself seem sterner than he felt.

“Because Finan says you are soft in the head, and a madman,” said Aethelstan, and he howled when Finan launched a furious tickle attack on his ribs.

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, wee man,” said Finan as he nimbly dodged Aethelstan’s wild kicks and punches, tickling furiously under Aethelstan’s arms and the backs of his knees.

“I wonder where he is learning that?” Sihtric commented to Uhtred under his breath, an observation so accurate Uhtred couldn’t help but laugh. In truth, he was glad to see it, for Aethelstan had been solemn and sorrowful when he came to them, stinging from his father’s first rejection and then his father’s harsh protection. It was a wound that would always ache, Uhtred knew, but it did not need to fester. Love and respect and laughter were a balm.

But it would take time. So Uhtred contented himself with further teasing: “Soft in the head, am I? For that grave insult, Finan and Aethelstan can take the watch tonight.”

“This is your fault,” Finan said to Aethelstan.

“It is not,” said Aethelstan.

“You will agree to disagree and be quiet,” said Sihtric, his voice filled with exasperation. “It is as if we have two children in the group.”

“Yes, father,” said Finan gravely, and there was silence for a single blessed moment before they all dissolved into laughter once again.

-

Uhtred woke as the sun was rising and knew immediately that Gisela had not visited his dreams. He lay on his back and watched the sky grow lighter, angry with himself as a husband and a father and a man, for what kind of a man allowed his love to vanish in such a way? The shame of it made his heart ache, and his face grew hot, his eyes gritty and dry and peeled open, and his limbs felt as if they were nailed fast to the ground.

But he stood. There was work to be done.

Finan was awake and Aethelstan, of course, was not. Finan leaned back against the oak tree, on his feet to guard against sleep as well as enemies. Uhtred went to relieve him, an opportunity Finan took with thanks, and Uhtred idled there in the dawn until he returned.

“I thought you would have woken them,” said Finan. He nodded at Osferth and Sihtric, both flat on their backs and snoring beside the dying fire.

Uhtred shrugged. “Eoferwic is close. Their stomachs will wake them soon enough.”

Finan chuckled and nodded his agreement. They stood in companionable silence as the land came to life around them and the sun rose ever higher in the sky. Uhtred knew that Finan knew something bothered him, but he did not ask, and Uhtred was grateful.

Aethelstan woke with the abruptness of youth. He sat up with a yawn and spotted them immediately, and he rose to his feet to join them. 

“And how long did you last on watch, boy?” Uhtred asked him, before he could begin asking questions of his own.

Aethelstan opened his mouth, then turned to Finan for an answer.

“A few hours,” said Finan. “He did well,” he added, and Aethelstan beamed with pride.

“Hmm,” said Uhtred. “A few hours is not a full watch, unless you are taking shifts. It takes practice. You will take your turn with all of us from now on,” Uhtred decided, now that they were safer in Sigtryggr’s country – it was an easier place for an aetheling to begin with such tasks.

“When you’re on watch, you are responsible for protecting your men,” Finan said, his voice very grave. “Never forget that.”

“I won’t, I swear it,” said Aethelstan. His eyes were wide, shocked at the trust granted to him – and if Uhtred had also decided that his men would take turns watching Aethelstan until he was adept, that was Uhtred’s business, and not Aethelstan’s.

Their talk woke Osferth and Sihtric, and they broke their fast with water and another fish that had been caught in the nets overnight. Then they tidied away their camp and put out the fire, mounted their horses and set off for Eoferwic.

The town was quiet when they arrived. They were granted passage through the gates immediately, and Uhtred was even greeted respectfully by a few of the Danes they passed. Not many, it was true, but enough to be noticeable. Uhtred was glad of it, because it meant that Sigtryggr did not view him as an enemy, even if they were not quite allies. And it was a relief to be among Danes once again, as it always was.

They found Stiorra waiting for them on the steps of the great hall with Sigtryggr and four guards, but Uhtred had eyes only for his daughter. He got down from his horse and embraced her and cupped her face in his hands. She was so like her mother, and he had not seen her face for so long.

“I’m happy to see you, father,” she said, with Gisela’s smile. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you,” said Uhtred. “You are a sight for these old eyes.”

“You’re not old,” she laughed. “Next year, perhaps.”

“Oh, only a year before I am old, I see,” said Uhtred, and he could not help but smile when he heard laughter from his men.

Stiorra looked well, he was glad to see, in body and in heart, happy and unafraid and full of life. There were no bruises on her face, no sign of pain in her movements. She looked much as she had in Winchester – a little older, perhaps, and a woman now, but Uhtred would have known her spirit anywhere.

“Have you married him yet?” he asked, but she laughed and shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said. “Sigtryggr says we need to get to know each other, first.”

“Perhaps I am waiting to ask your father’s permission,” Sigtryggr said to her, something Uhtred heard with scepticism, for that was not the Danish way. He offered his hand to Sigtryggr, who clasped it with a warmth that took Uhtred by surprise.

“You and your men are welcome here,” Sigtryggr said, releasing him. “You may do as you please in the city, none shall harm you. Although I must take the boy as a hostage,” he added with a grin, and Uhtred smiled again until he heard Finan and Osferth and Sihtric begin to unsheathe their swords.

“Finan! He is joking. He gains more by helping us guard the boy than by selling him.”

“If you’re certain, lord,” said Finan.

“Your lord is correct,” said Sigtryggr. “Conflict is the only thing to be gained by harming him, and I much prefer peace. Although you may wish to keep him away from me – he is afraid of me,” Sigtryggr explained, and when Uhtred turned around he saw that Aethelstan had taken shelter behind Finan, although he did not cower, and he held the knife that Sihtric had given him before they left Coccham.

“He’ll be fine,” said Uhtred.

“Very well. We feast here in the great hall at nightfall,” said Sigtryggr. “We shot a boar yesterday and began roasting it as soon as we had word of your approach. And the traders have recently brought wine from Frankia. You have arrived at a fortunate time.”

“But you’ll be wanting an alehouse before all that,” said Stiorra, and she looped her arm around Uhtred’s. “I will show you the way.”

“Now that sounds like a plan,” said Finan, and so Uhtred let his only, his precious daughter drag them all deeper into Eoferwic.

-

The feast was loud and full of laughter, good-humoured as only Danish feasts could be. The meat quickly vanished into voracious stomachs and the wine and ale flowed freely. Uhtred was seated beside Stiorra at the main table, but the feast soon spread out of the hall and into the streets. With a great pit of hot embers in the centre of the courtyard, it was not long before somebody produced a rope and Uhtred lost his men and his daughter and an aetheling of Wessex to the tug-of-war.

Uhtred did not take part. He stood at the side and watched while he sipped at his ale, his heart filled with memories of Ragnar and Brida in the fortresses at Dunholm and at Werham, of their home at Loidis so many years ago. Sometimes it seemed as if his happiness had long passed into the shadows; this carefree joy was no longer for him.

Sigtryggr came to join him. “Did you play this game with Earl Ragnar the Fearless?”

“Yes.” Uhtred glanced at him and found Sigtryggr watching the game with a wistfulness that Uhtred imagined was evident on his own face. “Did you play with your kinsfolk in Irland?”

Sigtryggr smiled. “Yes. We are on common ground once again, it seems.”

“Hmm,” said Uhtred, but he could not deny it. Sigtryggr had lost his home and his family, had been forced to find a new home, with new people, as had Uhtred twice over. It was not an experience he wished on anybody, to be as the limb severed from the body, instead of part of the whole.

“To your family,” said Uhtred, lifting his cup.

Sigtryggr paused, then raised his glass, too. “And to yours.”

They drank, and then Sigtryggr turned to face him. “I was not joking, before,” he said. “When I spoke of asking your permission to wed your daughter.”

Uhtred laughed. “Stiorra is not my property. She can do as she pleases – and believe me, she will.”

Sigtryggr chuckled. “True,” he admitted, but then he grew serious. “But I would like us to be kin, and allies, instead of enemies.”

Uhtred sighed. He wondered if Sigtryggr knew what he risked with such a request. 

“That is not a simple thing,” he said. He pointed at Aethelstan. “That is King Edward’s firstborn son. I am sworn to protect him until he is ready to rule. I walk between two peoples, Sigtryggr, it is not an easy path.”

Sigtryggr had listened in silence, but at that last he stirred. “I think we now walk the same path. Eoferwic is my home, and it will not be taken from me, by Saxon or by Dane. But we must have peace. So I would prefer allies who understand this land and who also call it their home, instead of the next Danish warlord, who fights for silver and little else.”

He sounded like Alfred. And it was something Uhtred could not argue against. Sigtryggr’s words made sense, for both of them – it would be good to have an ally in what was once Northumbria.

“So we are allies, now,” said Uhtred, and he lifted his cup once again.

“We are kin,” said Sigtryggr, as if that were the most important thing.

-

The next morning, Uhtred woke suddenly from a dreamless sleep when Finan crashed through the door and staggered noisily into their room. Stiorra had insisted they stay in the palace with her and Sigtryggr, who had simply chuckled and waved a hand and let her have her way. Uhtred and Finan had been given a room facing the east, and it was now filled with bright morning sunlight.

“Finan,” chided Uhtred. “We are guarding an aetheling, you should not be this drunk.”

“How long?” said Finan as he propped himself up against the wall. “How long, we staying here?”

“I do not know,” said Uhtred. “A week, perhaps two,” or perhaps longer, Uhtred thought, because he did not want to leave Stiorra.

“Then it doesn’t matter how long I’m drunk,” said Finan triumphantly, as his legs gave way and he started to slowly but surely slide down the wall onto his arse.

Uhtred sighed and got up to catch Finan under his arms just before he hit the ground. He hauled Finan bodily back to his feet.

“You are going to regret this,” Uhtred told him, as he helped Finan over to his bed. “You will regret it, and I will enjoy your pain.”

“You would, too,” said Finan, so mournfully that Uhtred could not help but laugh.

“What did you do with Aethelstan?”

“Osferth,” Finan mumbled, and that was not quite the reassurance it might once have been, as Osferth had been well and truly corrupted by Finan over the years.

“You fool,” Uhtred muttered, full of affection for his friend, against his better judgement. He covered Finan with a blanket and left him to his sleep.

Aethelstan was sitting at one of the tables in the great hall, not with Osferth but with Sihtric, who seemed to have become Uhtred’s most sensible man when Uhtred was not looking. The boy looked well, bright and cheerful despite his lack of sleep as he tore into a loaf of bread, while Sihtric looked a little the worse for wear and did not eat.

“Did Finan find you?” he asked, and Uhtred nodded.

“He did, like a bull in a church,” said Uhtred, and Sihtric laughed.

“Uhtred,” said Aethelstan eagerly. “Did you see me in the tug-of-war? We won!”

“I did,” said Uhtred, and he ruffled the boy’s hair. “You will be a great warrior, that is certain, with so much strength in your skinny arms already,” he added, and Aethelstan beamed.

They passed a pleasant two weeks inside Eoferwic’s walls and managed to lose track of Aethelstan only twice more before recovering him, which Uhtred considered a victory given the boy’s increasing confidence and his endless curiosity. The first time, they found him with the swordsmith, watching with fascination as he pounded blades and daggers and axes from molten steel. It was no bad thing for the boy to understand weaponry and where it came from, so Uhtred was lax in his response… and that perhaps explained the second incident, which Uhtred did not care to remember and did not intend to repeat. 

Towards the end of their time in Eoferwic, Stiorra married Sigtryggr. Uhtred had not seen a Dane wedding since Thyra married Bjorn so many years ago and he could not remember enough of the ceremony to say if the customs were the same, but there were vows, and a hand-fasting, and a father with tears of pride and love running down his cheeks as his only daughter gave her life and her heart to a worthy man. And so, Uhtred ruefully supposed as he wiped his face, it was probably not so very different to Thyra’s wedding after all.

“Father,” Stiorra said after the ceremony as she hugged him. “I saw you crying,” she said, teasing him. “You are going soft in your old age.”

“Well, you have become a wife,” retorted Uhtred, and he laughed when she laughed, because he knew that she would understand better in the future, when she had children of her own to give away to others, headstrong children who would follow their own paths no matter how much pain it gave their parents.

“Do not judge me too harshly,” he said to her. “It is hard for me to let you go. You are so like your mother,” he murmured, and he reached out to smooth back her hair. “It is as if I am saying goodbye to her for a second time.”

Stiorra smiled at him and rested a hand on his chest, over his heart. “She is here with us today, father. I can feel her,” she added. “Can’t you?”

And Uhtred drew his daughter into his arms once again, because he could not give her an answer.

-

But that night, finally, Gisela came to him once again in his dreams.

He thought at first that she had taken pity on him in his grief and happiness at Stiorra’s marriage, that she had come to comfort him, but her face when she appeared was a rictus of rage and frustration and despair. Her skull seemed somehow etched over the surface of her skin, and her eyes were black and bottomless.

“Gisela,” Uhtred whispered, shocked, for she was unlike anything she had ever appeared to be in life… but it was Gisela, he was sure of it, the steel core of her that allowed her to stand up and carry on in the face of her fear, when all seemed lost and others would have broken. It was the darkest part of her, the heart of her that had drawn him close, beyond her beauty and wisdom, her laughter, her smile.

She did not smile at him now. She rasped: “You are killing me.”

She stared at him, and her eyes stripped him, left him flayed, judged him and found him wanting. There were chains around her ankles, and blood trickled over her feet.

“Don’t be a coward,” she snarled.

And he woke up.

-

The next morning, soon after he woke, Uhtred roused Finan and Sihtric and Osferth and gave the order to pack up their things. They would leave Eoferwic for Cumbraland that day.

“Cumbraland?” Finan said doubtfully. “Are we going to Guthred, then?”

“No,” said Uhtred. “But Aethelstan needs to learn his lands, and Cumbraland is less dangerous than Northumbria.”

“If safety is our biggest concern, why not stay in Eoferwic?” asked Osferth.

“Do not question me,” Uhtred snapped, and he strode away to find Stiorra.

He could not find her, of course – how she was like her mother – but he did find Sigtryggr in the great hall, reviewing a map of England with the captain of his guard.

“Uhtred,” he greeted, but the welcoming smile fell quickly from his lips. “What has happened?”

“Nothing has happened,” said Uhtred. “We are leaving today, and I am looking for Stiorra.”

“She has gone hunting,” said Sigtryggr. His tone was cautious, as if he sensed Uhtred’s temper – perhaps he could, Uhtred thought. It was not hidden.

“When will she return?”

“Dusk.”

“Oh,” said Uhtred, and he felt as dull and as stupid and as useless as he had when he woke up.

“Wait another day,” suggested Sigtryggr.

“I am at the mercy of my women,” said Uhtred. “We will stay.”

He stalked back to his room, where Finan was dutifully packing their few belongings. “We leave tomorrow,” Uhtred told him abruptly. “Tell the others.”

Finan stopped his work and turned to stare at him. He looked angry, Uhtred noted. Then Finan exclaimed: “Ah, Uhtred, for the love of God!”

“What?” said Uhtred. “What?” Then his legs gave out, and he found himself sitting on the floor. He was shaking, he realised, and he could not catch his breath. He panted as if he had run a thousand miles, and he flushed with embarrassment under Finan’s assessing gaze.

“You, my friend, are being a proper arse today,” said Finan after a moment; clearly, he had judged Uhtred deserving of pity and had forgiven him his fickleness and his lack of care, where Gisela had not. Not for the first time, Uhtred thought that Finan was a kinder, more steadfast friend than he deserved.

Finan pulled the blanket from his bed and wrapped it around Uhtred’s shoulders, then sat down in front of him. “Breathe with me,” he urged, and he took Uhtred’s hand and placed it on his own chest.

Uhtred watched his hand rise and fall where it rested on Finan’s body, felt Finan’s heart beating steadily under his palm, strong and unfailing; this was the man who had been with him through slavery, through the loss of his wife, his brother, his sister, Beocca. Finan would argue with him, tease him, show his displeasure, but Finan would never abandon him, just as he would never abandon Finan. He was safe with Finan, and Uhtred allowed the truth of it to sink deep into his bones, and slowly, slowly, Uhtred calmed, until he matched Finan breath for breath. 

Finan had wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, Uhtred realised, and drawn him forward. Their foreheads touched and their breaths mingled; Finan’s warmth was a shock against his cold skin.

“Uhtred,” Finan murmured. “Will you just… tell me what’s bothering you? You have not been yourself for weeks.”

Uhtred pulled back and stared at him helplessly, for there was nothing he could say that would not make him sound like a madman, or a blubbering fool. Then he said simply, “It is Gisela,” and the sharp edges of his shame were out in the world for Finan to see.

Finan’s eyes widened. He was surprised, and why wouldn’t he be surprised? After the pyre, Uhtred had never spoken of this to him. Perhaps through the years Finan had heard him wake with Gisela’s name on his lips, or perhaps he wondered if Aethelflaed had truly taken Gisela’s place in Uhtred’s affections. He had loved Aethelflaed, could have lived with her until death, happily and well, but Gisela had owned his whole heart. She had been his joy and his solace, his greatest friend and counsellor and protector, as much as he was hers. His grief was a blade, and it cut as deeply as ever.

“I know you miss her,” Finan said. His voice was low.

“She comes to me in my dreams,” he said. His vision blurred; his eyes were wet. “It is as if she has come from, from the room next door, or from just outside our hall.”

“As if she’s still here,” Finan said, with the weight of knowledge in his voice. “Even if you can’t see her.”

Uhtred nodded. “Yes,” he said, and he struggled to take a shuddering breath. “But she has not come to me since before the battle at Winchester. And for so long I did not notice.”

Finan sighed, and Uhtred knew Finan would draw him into his arms, then; and so he did.

“Time changes us,” Finan said quietly into his ear, his strong arms wrapped around Uhtred’s shoulders. “You have mourned her for many years.”

Uhtred nodded, and then he was overcome again, and for a moment he let himself weep in Finan’s arms. There were so few who had seen him in such a state, so few he trusted; Iseult, Gisela, Hild, Aethelflaed.

And Finan.

“She came to me last night, for the first time in weeks.” He pulled back and met Finan’s gaze, although he could not bring himself to let go of Finan entirely, and Finan did not let go of him. “She came as a shadow-walker, Finan, she was so angry with me. She said that I was killing her.”

“There you go,” said Finan, as if Gisela had proven his point. Then he embraced Uhtred again. “She mourns for you, Uhtred. She does not want you to carry this sadness.”

Uhtred lowered his forehead to rest on Finan’s shoulder. “You think her absence is a message.”

“I do.” Finan hesitated, and Uhtred knew he was about to make a bad joke. “Don’t tell me she never gave you the silent treatment,” Finan said and, miracle of all miracles, Uhtred laughed.

-

Finan helped Uhtred into bed and bade him rest, then left him to inform Sihtric and Osferth and Aethelstan that they would remain in Eoferwic another day. For Sihtric and Osferth, Finan would not bother to find a pretty excuse for Uhtred’s inconsideration. He might be honest, or he might keep Uhtred’s secrets. It was Sihtric and Osferth, and Uhtred found he did not mind either way, for neither would speak of it to him, or to others.

Uhtred lay on his bed and contemplated Finan’s words. Time changed all men, he had said as much to Sihtric, and now Finan had spoken those same words to him. A shadow-walker, Uhtred knew, could wear many masks. The thought made him smile, for it meant that Gisela was with him in ways far beyond dreams.

-

Stiorra returned from the hunt late in the evening, and Uhtred did not see her again until the morning. They met on the steps of the great hall, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight, as she had since she was a little girl who had lost her mother.

“Come back soon,” she said.

“I will,” Uhtred promised. “Make sure he treats you well,” he whispered into her ear, nodding at Sigtryggr.

She laughed. “He will. He does. Father, he is with me as you were with my mother,” she said, and Uhtred supposed that was a good thing. He could never have raised a hand to Gisela, would have died before doing so, and he would tear Sigtryggr apart if he ever harmed Stiorra.

She let him go. “Finan is watching,” she said, and Uhtred turned and saw that Finan was indeed watching them, a fond smile on his face.

“He’s jealous,” said Uhtred. He cupped her face and drank in her features, the better to build a memory that would sustain him through their long months apart, or into Valhalla, if it came to that. “He wishes you were his daughter.”

“Father, don’t be a coward,” she said, and she laughed again. “He’s watching _you_ ,” she added, her eyes bright and full of teasing mischief.

And Uhtred thought yet again that she was so like her mother.


End file.
